Nine Months Abroad
by frazzledgiraffe
Summary: Takes place after HLV. Mary's about to deliver and Sherlock is adjusting to life without John in 221b. What happens when a new girl arrives at St. Bart's? M for childbirth n' stuff, maybe something else a little later...enjoy!


**_Dani_**

"Mrs. Watson! Has it been six weeks already?" asked Dr. Harris, his British accent thick in my unaccustomed ears. The woman on the table looked tired, with heavy bags underneath ear eye, and a weary expression on her face.

She managed to choke out a laugh before she spoke. "Yeah, though it feels much longer when you're the size of Mars." Dr. Harris laughed his laugh of professional detachment to show politeness.

"Very well Mrs. Watson, soon you will be back to your normal size, and a have baby girl in your arms. Tell me, are you excited? Nervous? Scared?"

"Uh yeah, all three, honestly. Um, who is this?" The woman craned her neck around the doctor to examine me, her eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"Jensen, ma'am. Danielle Jensen," I blurted out nervously.

"Ah." Mrs. Watson said, and up-downed me. I could feel the blush in my cheeks. "An American? And one so young?" God, was I that obvious?

Dr. Harris answered for me. "Not to worry, Mrs. Watson. Ms. Jensen is studying pre-medicine at King's College, and interning here at St. Bart's this academic year. She's an abroad student from America."

Mrs. Watson relaxed a bit, and held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Jensen. Welcome to England." I walked over and shook her hand.

"Dani, please. "

"Now, Mrs. Watson, whatever Dani does will be supervised by our experienced team. I hope you're alright with this arrangement?" I felt like a child, not like someone who would be delivering children for the next nine months. "And she's at the top of her class. That is why she's with us."

"I trust I and the baby are in good hands, doctor."

"You two are indeed, Mrs. Watson. Now, it's time for your 32-week ultrasound. Just lie down there and Dani will take care of you."

She reclined onto the chair and Dr. Harris went to sit in the corner room, observing me.

"Mrs. Watson, I have to ask you to remove your pants and undergarments," I said. Mrs. Watson sat up as quickly as she could with her heavily pregnant belly.

"What? I've never had to undress for an ultrasound before. Has something happened?" Maternal worry etched her features.

I tried to soothe her. "There nothing wrong, Mrs. Watson."

"Mary."

"There's nothing wrong, Mary. The 8 month ultrasound has to be perform intra-vaginally, to examine the cervix and birth canal as well as the child."

"Intra-vaginally? Like a pap-smear?"

"Yes, sort of. Not as much metal involved here. I just have to use this," holding up my instrument, "to perform the procedure."

"What is that?"

"To be frank, it is a dildo with a camera at the tip." Dr. Harris coughed from across the room. "Are you uncomfortable with this, Mary?"

"No, no. I'll have to pop this baby out in 4 weeks in front of a lot more pairs of eyes, why not get a head start?" Mary replied, standing up to pull off her slacks. I backed away, washing the instrument and putting on my gloves. She slipped on a patient gown and laid down on the chair.

The older women were always much more relaxed when it came to this ultrasound. The young mothers were always self-conscious, as if their gynecologist hadn't seen the inside of a vagina before, or as if all of them didn't look anatomically identical.

Mary Watson seemed completely calm, her eyes on the screen the whole time.

"Will my legs have to be in these damned stirrups when I gave birth?" she asked.

"No, this just makes it easier to examine the fetus in-utero," I replied, finishing my examination. "Dr. Harris, if you would like to see, I have found no complications with the fetus or the canal." I handed him my notes on Mrs. Watson and stood up from my stool. Dr. Harris quickly checked her, and handed my clipboard back to me.

"Excellent, Dani. And Mrs. Watson, we will see you when you are ready to deliver. Don't hesitate to call. I will be in my office, should either of you need me. Dani, please tell Mrs. Watson about the final stage of her pregnancy." And with that, Dr. Harris was out of the room.

Mary stood up to dress herself. I regaled to her the basics, no long-distance travel, always have a phone, how to identify contractions, spotting, etc. While I was talking, the door opened without a knock.

In the doorway stood a rather short man, who I recognized as the general practitioner who gave me a tour of St. Bart's last week when I arrived.

"Um, Dr. Watson? Why are you in the obstetrics wing?" I asked.

Mary spoke up as she fastened her coat. "This is my husband, Dr. John Watson."

Dr. Watson nodded and walked into the room.

"Oh, I uh, we've met, Dr. Watson was my tour guide of St. Bart's," I explained.

The couple stood next to each other. "Call me John, please. Everything sound?" asked Dr. Watson. No, John.

"Yes, sir, um, John, your wife and the baby are perfectly healthy. I hope you are prepared for a child in your lives." Was that weird to say? It sounded weird to me. Oh god.

"Thank you, Dani. We'll just be going now, Mary cannot exactly drive herself at this point."

"Yes, that is expected at this stage in pregnancy. Enjoy your weekend, Dr. and Mrs. Watson."

They walked hand in hand out of the patient's room. "You too!" called Mary.

An hour later I walked out of the Dr. Harris's office, out of the obstetrics wing and started through the mortuary. How ironic, to put the morgue next to the maternity ward. I suppose it's a nice sentiment, the cycle of life and everything. Or just coincidental planning.

I shivered in the cold hallway. Gurnies, or "stretchers," I guess passed by, black body bags on topping them. A woman with mousy brown hair stopped me as I walked by.

"Ar-are you family? Because visitors are not allowed in the morgue," she said.

I looked at myself. I had left my white coat in Dr. Harris's office, and now was wearing blue jeans, a black, short-sleeved shirt, with my coat hanging on my forearm. And wearing sandals. In autumn. In London. I was raised in California, and I didn't let go of my dress, even when I went off to college on the East Coast. I must've looked like a clueless, foreign wanderer to her.

"No, I'm an assistant in the obstetrics wing," I explained, pulling out my staff I.D. card.

"Oh, sorry, I uh, you look so…"

"Out of place? Yes, I feel it too. I'm Dani."

She smiled sheepishly. "I was going to say young, but yes, also a bit lost. I'm Molly Hooper. Pathologist."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Hooper."

"Molly, please."

The room to the left of us, well my left at least, had a glass window as its wall. Inside, there was a man in a suit, who appeared to be pouring boiling water on a corpse. He occasionally let out a yell when the water to touched his skin. Molly seemed to follow my line of vision.

"Don't mind him. He just runs his own experiments in the morgue. Well, technically he's not allowed here but he doesn't cause much trouble. Not a big deal." She was babbling about the man in the morgue.

He had dark, almost black hair that was tousled and uncombed. His cheekbones were well defined and angled down to his thick lips. He had icy blue eyes framed by dark brows that were furrowed in concentration.

"Who is he?" I said, not turning towards Molly.

"Sherlock Holmes," she answered in an air of disbelief. Was this guy famous or something?

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and without looking I knew it was my dorm mate wondering where I was. "It's been great to meet you Molly, but I have to go, a friend in waiting up. Have a nice Friday."

"Thank you, you as well.

I walked down the hallway and glanced at the man, Sherlock. He looked back. The furrow in his brow relaxed, his lips slightly parted. He then seemed to snap in his mind, and returned his face to a neutral expression.

Who would spend their free time pouring scalding water on dead bodies? Or better, who has work off at 3:00? He wasn't a doctor here, that much was obvious. The suit suggests he's not unemployed, so maybe he was famous. An actor or something? He certainly had the looks. But what would an actor be doing with corpses? He's probably with the police or something in forensics. It makes the most sense.

I faced forward again, pulled on my coat, and walked out of St. Bart's into the chilly London air.

**_Sherlock_**

A freshly dead body, when in contact with water at 100 degrees (C), the skin burned in the same fashion that a living person's skin did. At least the outside conditions were the same. I will have to examine the internal damage at a later date.

Molly Hooper entered my lab. Technically it was _her_ lab, but she exercises such lack of control over it I've come to consider it my lab.

"Afternoon Sherlock," said Molly. Tom's engagement ring had been taken off her finger.

"Molly. Dump the fiancée, I presume?"

She blushed, and smiled a bit. So it was her who ended the relationship. "Yes, in fact. We just weren't…right for each other, I guess."

"Mmm."

"What are you experimenting with today, Sherlock?"

"Burn injuries on newly dead corpses. Nothing particularly fruitful." I sighed. A perfectly boring day. Except the girl. "Molly, who was just with you?"

She stammered. "Who do you mean?"

I couldn't figure out why she didn't understand whom I was referring to immediately. Who else was in the hall with her? Living persons, specifically. "The girl. Blonde. What was she doing in the mortuary?"

"Oh. Right. She's a new medical assistant in the maternal ward. American."

"American?"

"Judging by her accent. She seems a bit young to be here, interning or whatnot."

"Strange." I sat at my microscope, looking at the burned epidermis. Silence hung in the air, and Molly just stood there, fidgeting with her hands.

"Well, I'll be getting on then. Friday night, you know."

A woman with Molly's personality Friday night wouldn't mean the usual clubbing and public drunkenness most people indulged in. She was probably going on a blind date, judging from her intricate hairstyle.

"Yes Molly, I do know. Friday nights are certainly full of cases to be found Saturday morning. Alcohol does bring out the stupid in people."

"Yeah, ha, I suppose Sherlock. I'll see you soon?"

"Most likely. If not for more body parts and experiments, then for Mary and John's child. By the swell of her stomach the day shouldn't be too far off."

"You're going to the delivery?" Molly seemed shocked by the idea.

"Of course. I was the one to first know about the baby in the beginning. Besides, I'd never hear the end of it from those two if I missed it. They want me as a godfather, apparently."

"Oh, well that's wonderful Sherlock. I'm sure you'd make a great fa- godfather." Molly blushed and hurried out of the lab.

The girl, she's American, she's an intern of some kind. Her clothes had been so plain, it's hard to deduce anything important about her. Medical student? Likely, the academic year had just begun. Young, obviously, smart, probably from the West Coast, judging from her hair and freckles.

None of this explains why I can't get her out of my head. Was it how easily she made eye contact, and didn't shirk from my experiment? Maybe. Something else? But what?

My phone rang. Lestrade.

"Sherlock."

"Who else would it be?"

"You're needed in the West End. I'll text you the address. Two deaths, possible murder suicide. On the double."

I pulled on my scarf and started for the door. Suddenly the girl was the last thing on my mind.


End file.
